Master Locks and Skooma
by Satan's Spikey Thong
Summary: Crackalicious stupidity and zero plotline. Dandy! Um...no pairings, but if you like some Master Lock action, this is your read! Rated M for some language and, er, sexual themes.


Somewhere, deep in the vast region of Skyrim, a special breed of terror hides. Only the strongest of adventurers, whose knees are tough enough to withstand the pain from an arrow's tip, will ever even have the honor of meeting one of them. Perhaps they choose the most hard-to-reach places to protect themselves, or maybe they are just that rare. Whichever the case, it is truly a wonder to live in a world with such magnificence.

They are persistent. They are fearsome. They are equivalent to the divinity of the Gods. Their beauty is to be respected.

They. Are. **_Master Locks_**.

Millions have struggled to retrieve the treasures that are picklock-blocked by these beasts. Millions have failed.

They are experts, nay, _masters _at their profession. Even those with a boastful one-hundred in pick-locking have found them to be troublesome. Failures have included rage-filled fits, beating the chest until your knuckles bleed dry, cursing the Divines, screaming so loud that the echoes reach High Hrothgar, and, of course, giving the fuck up.

But today, our friendly neighbourhood Dovahkiin has volunteered to attempt one. The legend has spoken that, in the past, she would just skip looting those chests that are locked with such incredible strength. Aha! Well played!

It is time to face the challenge, however! So step it up, Dragonborn!

"So far, I've been in eleven crypts, fifteen caves, and a few hundred other odd places! I have one-hundred in pick-locking and all of my perks! Where in the Void can a girl get some jester-humping gold?" The steaming Khajiit stomped up the road, clenching an axe in each hand firmly. The merry man who accompanied her flinched at the comment, but said nothing about it; only fantasized. Their awkward relationship could be saved for a different story, anyway.

After another half-mile listening to the Listener's ranting, Cicero raised a gloved hand and spoke, "Maybe you should loot _all _the chests?"

"What? I do loot all the chests, you mentally-ill buffoon of a man!"

"B-but Cicero has seen you pass many!"

"Because t-those are…you idiot!" The girl flung a blow at him, which would certainly have left a mark if the man had not dodged the attack. "I'll rip yo-"

"LOOK!" Cicero jumped up and pointed ahead of the road. The Dragonborn turned her attention to see a lone chest just sitting there right in the middle of the path. "There! Go open it!"

"Totally not an obvious trap, Captain Braindead." She lifted her paw again, but a strangely familiar, seductive voice arose from absolutely no where:

"COME. TOUCH ME WITH YOUR SPECIAL TOOLS."

"What the serious-"

"THE LOCK SPEAKS. WE MUST GO, LISTENER. IT DEMANDS." The Jester skipped up the road. Defeated, the Dragonborn followed.

"YES. YESSSSSSS. CLOOOSER." The lock coaxed. It had a deep, throaty accent that reminded one of a RedGuard male. It only seemed to get louder until the two adventurers paused right in front of it, then it whispered, "Yesssssssss. Touch me with your stick."

Immediately, Cicero pulled off his motley. Like, all of it in one move. Somehow. And then he proceeded to shove his manly man log right inside the keyhole. He made little grunting noises, too, as the Dragonborn stood, horrified by the situation. "ALL HAIL THE GREAT WILLY."

The lock seemed to be humming to itself, not giving a damn.

Finally, Cicero pulled out with a loud "AAAAAAGH" and flung himself to the ground.

"K.O!" The lock shouted.

This is where our hero really starts to wonder why the hell she was running around Skyrim with a fool in the first place.

"IT IS YOUR TURN," the lock spoke in a bored tone.

The Dragonborn hesitantly reached into her pocket and pulled out one, shiny, gleamy lockpick. "I guess this will do?" Without waiting for an answer, she shoved the piece of metal inside the lock.

"THAT MAKES ME MOIST," it proclaimed.

"WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING AT ME?"

"TUUUURRRRN IT. TUUUURRRRN ME ON."

"UM, OKAY." And she did. She turned that pick hard.

"OH YES. OOOOOOH YESSSS. UNF."

And then the lock came coins from its slit.

"Oh, thanks. I'll use this for Skooma. And "Salt Piles". Huehuehue."

"THIS IS NOT OVER." The chest rattled once more and a sapphire was born. "NURTURE IT."

But SURPRISE. Nazir was secretly behind the chest all along and totally played the voice of the lock! The end.


End file.
